Seblaine Week 2014
by blainedarling
Summary: The six stories I wrote for Seblaine week 2014 (Alternative Meeting, Wet Tshirt Contest, Historical/Different Decade, Paranormal/Fantasy, Disney, Soulmate) Ratings and genres vary!
1. When You Touch Me Like This

_There are certain occupational hazards associated with the work Blaine and Sebastian do. (Inspired by John and Judy from _Love Actually) [M]

* * *

Blaine did not consider his job to be anywhere within the realms of porn, despite the series of lewd gestures and noises his friends were inclined to make whenever it was brought up. He'd never stuck anything anywhere that wasn't of his own choosing, and the most revealing thing he'd had on show to the camera was his ass.

Apart from that one time something had gone wrong in the editing lab and a brief, nought point two second shot of his cock had made it into the final movie. Fortunately, the movie itself had been so bad that the critics had been too busy tearing apart the plot to notice the body double's cock flapping about.

The important thing was that it was a job, in an industry that was notoriously tough to break into. The second most important thing was that his family would never have to know; with the exception of his brother, Cooper, who had gotten him the job in the first place. All he'd told Blaine, to be precise, was that it was body double work, and that he'd take it himself except that they needed someone small enough to pass for their main star in the, quote-unquote, places it mattered.

That was how he'd ended up, a fresh-faced kid to the fast-paced world of Los Angeles, laying on his stomach on a bed for five hours, sporadically being brought snacks and water, while shot after shot after shot was taken of his ass, backs of his thighs, and even a good half an hour spent on his feet. The result was ten seconds of footage in the final movie. That was Hollywood for you.

Blaine didn't regret it, not any of it. It was all tasteful, and he still drew a line at taking any of the roles offered to him that his agent didn't approve as trustworthy production companies. He could afford to pay his rent each month and put food on the table, he'd already paid off a nice little chunk of his student loans in the past six months alone, and he was meeting the kinds of people who had the power to potentially one day actually put his face on the big screen.

He considered himself luckier than most, especially in this town. It had taken some getting used to, some adjustment - but Los Angeles in itself was like that. He'd probably taken as long to understand the best routes around the traffic in the city as he had to be coached in the best ways to not pop a boner in the middle of shooting.

The latter hadn't been much of a problem for him thus far, although he'd appreciated his agent's ability to keep an entirely straight face as she laid out a list of techniques that other clients, who had started off as he had and since gone on to bigger things, had found effective. They seemed logical enough and he bore them in mind every time he went into work, just in case, but typically his scene partner wasn't carrying the kind of _equipment_ to be getting him anywhere close to riled up.

Recently, it had been getting a little more challenging. Not because of the girls he worked with - all of whom were lovely, beautiful ladies, of course - but because he was going through just a little bit of a dry patch in his own love life. Something about spending a good portion of his days imitating having sex with someone made him very disinclined to spend his nights trying to find someone to do the actual act with.

His friends had been persistent in their efforts to set him up, ignoring his pleas about how between work and auditions for speaking roles (ones with faces) he was just too tired. Most hadn't even come to a first date, let alone any further. One hapless Californian native called Nate had made it as far as his bed, had given him a messy and unsatisfying handjob and then showed himself out.

It was an effort to drag himself out of bed this particular morning. He'd had a fitful and broken sleep, not able to get comfortable when sleeping on his back was out of the question. His scene partner the day before hadn't quite grasped the concept of not _actually _needing to make skin-on-skin contact with the spanking. And she'd had very sharp nails.

He eventually pulled himself to his feet, skimming through the messages that had accumulated on his phone overnight, his spare hand digging through the nightstand for some moisturizer that might help ease the ache of his backside. Most of it could be dealt with later, his thumb only really pausing to open a message from Lara, his agent.

_Rise and shine! Big budget today, make sure you're neat ;) I'd recommend a cold shower this morning, too x_

Blaine frowned down at his phone, rolling his eyes and tossing it onto the bed before shuffling off towards the bathroom. He'd long since learned to take every piece of Lara's advice with a pinch of salt.

It was only when he reached set that he realised perhaps he should have heeded Lara's suggestion more carefully for once; even then only once he was in his robe, having been given a quick rub over by the makeup team, and walking barefoot over towards a wide love seat style couch. The director was already talking with his scene partner, their backs to Blaine as he crossed the room. But Blaine's heart had already picked up a beat from the breadth of his scene partner's shoulders, the light messy hair, the soft, deep tone of his voice.

His friends had been teasing him about when this day would come, about when it would in fact be a man he was working with and suddenly he'd have to be focusing on a lot more than just whether his ass cheeks were clenched in the right way.

And then the man turned and Blaine could practically hear Lara's voice in his head, smugly pointing out that she'd told him so. It was his lips that Blaine's eyes fell to first, turned up slightly at the corner, quirking even more so as the man registered where his gaze was.

If there was one thing Blaine hated about being single, it was how much he missed kissing. Just spending hours mapping out the curve of someone's lips, the taste of their tongue, the noises they might make when you bit here or sucked there. Blaine felt the blood in his body rush south and internally groaned.

It was going to be a very long day.

The director, whom Blaine had met once before on a job about a month back, introduced them briefly, promising them he'd be back to set them up in a few minutes before rushing off.  
"It's nice to meet you, Sebastian," Blaine offered up politely, raising his hand to shake the other's before deciding that was ridiculous when they were about to be naked and pressed up against one another, and letting it flop back to his side with a vague flick of his wrist.

Sebastian caught the gesture, an amused twinkle in his eyes. "You're a bit too cute to only have your body getting caught on camera," Sebastian said in lieu of any kind of cordial response, as he sat down on the love seat, his legs slightly spread. The material of the robe draped over his thighs, revealing the smooth skin along the inside of them.

Blaine wondered for a moment how Sebastian would feel about someone biting them.

"You look a little too like a movie star to be doing the same," Blaine retorted, blushing as Sebastian's eyebrow rose, clearly not expecting him to be so quick to rise to his light flirting.

It was true though, Sebastian did look like a movie star. His hair was artfully pushed back, his teeth straight and pearly white, and Blaine could see that he was toned just from where his robe was gaping over his chest unabashedly.

Talking with him seemed to be helping Blaine a little, too, in other areas. If they could just keep talking like this, he would have less time to trace every single curve and contour of Sebastian's body with his eyes, and then maybe he'd get through this. Maybe.

That maybe flew right out of his head once Sebastian's robe came off. Sebastian had the kind of body that Blaine's fantasy lovers of his high school years were made of. The kind that he'd dreamt about late at night, telling him he was beautiful, telling him he was perfect, telling him how much they wanted him, while his hand flew over his cock in erratic strokes.

The planes of his chest were toned and defined, without being intimidatingly muscular. And his _legs._Even more mesmerising than they had been when just lightly covered by his robe, light hairs dusted over the skin. Blaine had no shame in admitting that he had a bit of a thing for a good pair of thighs, when he could tell just from looking at them that they'd wrap around his hips at just the right angle.

As for his cock, well - it seemed Sebastian was of the sort to object to The Sock, and Blaine didn't blame him for that. The Sock (not its official title, but what it was most commonly referred to by all who had the displeasure to encounter it) was really just a slip of material to cover an actor's cock for the scene, if it was deemed necessary or possible. Necessary meaning if one or both of actors would be uncomfortable without it; possible meaning if it wouldn't disrupt a shot.

The former was laughable given that it was made of the most scratchy, irritating material, designed with the sole purpose that it would not accidentally fall off with any movement. Blaine had long since gotten over his preoccupations about having his bare cock resting against a stranger's leg for an afternoon, particularly once he'd discovered just how much chafing could occur in the space of that time. A few girls would be more adamant about it and then, of course, he'd oblige. But as many of them complained that it felt like sandpaper on their own skin.

Blaine was almost tempted to ask for The Sock, just so he didn't have to face the looming reality of bumping cocks with this Adonis at least once in the day. Almost. He did have such a gorgeous cock, he didn't want to be the one responsible for his scene partner ending up with chafing and irritation.

He took a deep breath, settling the bubbling nerves in his stomach before slipping off his own robe, passing it over to one of the assistants. Sebastian was already being moved to lay down on the love-seat, one leg propped up invitingly, that seemingly ever-present smirk still tugging at his features.

"Just on top, please, Blaine," the director probed, and he nodded as he walked over, swinging his body up over Sebastian's.  
Sebastian's hand fell voluntarily to the middle of his back, keeping him balanced as Blaine carefully settled his body down, being sure to minimise the amount of accidental rubbing of body parts as possible.

"Good?" Sebastian asked quietly, just for his ears as the production team milled around setting things up.  
Blaine nodded, finding a secure and comfortable way to hold his weight. Sebastian's hand didn't stray from his back, but his once-propped up leg came around the back of his knees to hold him in place, too.

Blaine gritted his teeth, slowly settling his hips down, breathing sharply through his nose. He looked up at Sebastian as he slotted their hips together, cocks resting chastely side by side. "Good?" he echoed.  
Sebastian grinned widely, before giving a small shrug. "Acceptable," he murmured.

While Sebastian was cocky, daring, even, he was still a professional. The director called action over the scene and he kept his hips moving in a strictly regulated way as the two of them rocked together. Fake frotting was an art in itself, but it was one that both Blaine and Sebastian had learned over time.

The director called cut, turning to his assistant to discuss something quietly.  
"Sebastian? Can you just move your hands to Blaine's ass?"  
Sebastian hands were warm, at least, but fingers far too probing as they settled over the curve of his cheeks.

Blaine hissed, giving Sebastian's bicep a pinch. "Watch it," he grumbled, the skin still sensitive from the day before.  
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. "But it's so pert and round," he protested, squeezing liberally.

The shorter man gritted his teeth together, glaring at Sebastian until he loosened his grip a little. "Sore," Blaine mumbled.  
"Well, well, Anderson. Was someone getting their ass pounded last night?" Sebastian asked, far too gleeful about the prospect.  
"More like I spent the night with ice on my ass to recover from Rachel Berry."

Sebastian snorted, before letting his hands just drape over the curve of his ass, far gentler than before. "That girl is vicious. She bit me so hard I had a mark for a week."  
Blaine smiled wryly; that sounded like Rachel.

The director called out to set up again, and Blaine let his head fall to Sebastian's shoulder, turned to face the back of the love seat. Not out of intimacy, but out of a certainty that if he kept looking into Sebastian's hypnotic eyes, he was going to have to worry about controlling his emotions, as much as his body.

With the grip Sebastian had on his ass, it was easier for him to roll his hips up in a rhythmic motion, little more for Blaine to do than match to it and try and make sure that he didn't shift sideways at all. But no matter if Blaine squeezed his eyes tightly shut, or pictured himself in an ice bath or any other of the many scenarios Lara had offered up, none of it helped.

Because it felt good. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to anyone he was attracted to, and it felt good to have that skin on skin contact, the sound of Sebastian's soft pants in his ear.

And then Sebastian's thumb starting rubbing gently over the curve of Blaine's ass and Blaine had to stifle a moan, sinking his teeth down hard into his lower lip to stop the noise from escaping. His stomach tightened, blood rushing into his cock.

For all Sebastian's earlier attitude, Blaine was the one that felt guilty now. He'd broken that professional trust, he'd let himself forget where he was. Of course it was a risk of the job, and this kind of thing happened daily, he knew that. But it didn't happen to him, he'd worked so hard to make sure it didn't.

"So, you are gay," was all Sebastian whispered, when the director next called cut, slamming Blaine's mouth shut over any apologies he was about to start exuding.  
Blaine lifted his head, raising an eyebrow at him. "Just because I happen to get a little bit hard when you're grinding on me, you instantly assume my sexuality?" he hissed.

Sebastian shrugged, that lazy grin falling onto his lips again. "Sweetheart, I've rubbed up against half a dozen straight guys before and as much as my pride hates to admit it, they're about as turned on by me as they are by a carrot."

Blaine huffed, setting his head back down and not saying a word. For the rest of the shoot, he waited for Sebastian to ask him out. The flirting, the touches that went beyond the call of duty, the look in his eye. So, why wouldn't he _say_ it?

The director called it a day by mid-afternoon, thanking them for their time and ushering them out with a paycheck in both of their hands. Sebastian gracefully made sure to walk in front of Blaine, at least as far as when they were given their robes back, sending him a wink over his shoulder on the way to his dressing room.

"Sebastian, wait," Blaine blurted out, fiddling with the tie of his robe and hovering on one foot.  
Sebastian turned, his robe still hanging open at the front. The man really did have no shame.  
"Would you like to have dinner? Tonight? With me?"

The corners of Sebastian's mouth turned up in a grin and he slowly picked up either side of the material and folded them across his body before replying. "About time, killer. I've been waiting for you to ask since this morning."

If there was one thing Blaine quickly learned when he sat down in the corner of a quiet Italian restaurant with Sebastian that evening, it was that he looked just as good with his clothes on. He was also more charming with them on, where he was cocky with them off, and Blaine couldn't help but try to pick apart the persona of the actor that Sebastian was during the days, and the real man he was beneath it all.

It was natural to want to hide, to be someone different, not just in that kind of work, but in this town as a whole. Blaine was typically quieter at work than he was otherwise, as if he was scared he would give away too much of himself, say something he could come to regret. When one's body is exposed, there are some things that one wants to remain hidden.

Sebastian insisted on paying for dinner, had his card slapped onto the table before Blaine had even gotten his own wallet out of his pocket. He also insisted on walking Blaine home, an arm tucked around his waist in a way that he found protective rather than unnecessarily possessive.

They lingered at the doorway to his apartment, Sebastian's hands jammed into the pocket of his jeans, while Blaine's were wrapped loosely around his own midriff. Blaine wanted to kiss him still, in fact even more so than the first time he'd thought it earlier that day.

Sebastian caught Blaine's gaze on his lips and seemed to take the hint, stepping forward to cup his cheek in one hand. "Way too cute," he whispered, a smile on his lips as he pressed them to Blaine's, warm and firm. It made something twist up in Blaine's chest, his heart hammering as his hands came up to hold onto the lapels of Sebastian's coat.

They were both a little breathless when they broke apart, little clouds of condensation forming between their lips in the cool air.  
"Is this the part where you invite me inside for a drink?" Sebastian murmured, licking his own lips, as if chasing the taste of the other man on them.

Blaine smiled to himself, before rocking back onto his heels. "Not tonight," he replied softly, pressing a chaste kiss to Sebastian's cheek before turning to the door, digging his hand into his pocket to find his keys.  
"I've already seen it all before," Sebastian protested with a groan, pressing into his side, trying furtively to land kisses over his temple, his head.

Blaine couldn't help but laugh at his persistence, could feel in his touches that it was nothing but playful. Sebastian was pushy, maybe, but he wasn't violent in his nature. Blaine could feel that in how safe he felt with him, just in the space of the day they'd known one another.

"Goodnight, Sebastian," he grinned, blowing him a kiss as he unlocked the front door to his apartment building and slipped inside. He took the stairs idly, unlocking the door on autopilot, his mind not in his actions at all.

He shrugged off his jacket when he got inside, moving over to the window to close the curtains for the sun had long since set. He snorted as he saw Sebastian still standing down on the street, hopping from foot to foot to try and keep warm, his gaze scanning over the windows, searching for him.

Blaine tugged the window open, enough to be able to stick his head and shoulders out.  
"Will you call me?" Sebastian asked, looking almost nervous with his hands stuck in his pockets.  
Blaine thought of how Sebastian had teased him earlier, with the robe, in waiting for him to be the one to make the first move.

Of course he would call him. "We'll see," Blaine replied down to the street level. "Goodnight, Sebastian," he repeated, retreating back into the warmth of his apartment.  
He heard a sigh filter its way up from the sidewalk, and footsteps slowly starting to move away. "You're breaking my heart, Blaine Anderson."


	2. Hey, Big Spender

_It wasn't Blaine's bright idea to hold a wet tshirt contest to raise money for the struggling barbershop quartet he was a part of at Berkeley University, yet he's the one who's ending up on show thanks to some sparky audience member. _[T]

* * *

Blaine would not have considered himself an expert on wet tshirt contests. It was the kind of thing that, within his head, was confined to wild spring breaks that got aired on MTV, the ones where the girls always pulled their bikini tops off while screaming at the top of their lungs; or the inner fantasies of straight teenage boys. Blaine tended to spend his spring breaks in New York, visiting old school friends and discovering new coffee shops on tucked away streets, and as far as his fantasies went, he tended to have a fairly strict _no girls allowed_ rule on that one.

It hadn't been his idea, either, but he didn't have the heart to turn down Sam's suggestion. Particularly not when the other two guys seemed as in favor of the idea as him. Particularly not when Blaine hadn't been able to come up with any better propositions for raising the money they desperately needed to be able to keep the quartet from floundering.

It turned out barbershop quartets were quite a niche activity to fall into at Berkeley, and perhaps the clue was in the name. With only four members, there was hardly a steady influx of new faces passing through, and as such they tended to be overlooked for the largely more successful and vast glee club.

The glee club had held a car wash. The glee club also had girls, so their car wash had raised them several thousand dollars through what could only be described as a soft core version of something that would be found in a strip club.

Blaine had done his time singing pop ballads in perky bow ties, he wanted to get back to his roots, to harness the efforts of his and other voices and prove what the power of four could really do. Things weren't quite going to plan.

By all respects, Sam belonged more in the glee club than in his little quartet, but apparently he'd body rolled in his audition and they'd kicked him out without so much as a thank you. And his voice was strong, there was no doubt about that.

Adam had more of a classic edge to him, one of the reasons why Blaine trusted him to song selections. Even if that did mean they sung a lot of The Beatles. Jake was the freshman of the group, the rest of them already juniors, who had come in to replace Hunter, who'd mysteriously dropped out of school halfway through their sophomore year. He'd always intimidated Blaine a little, anyway.

Blaine wasn't sure how four averagely attractive guys were going to make the two thousand, seven hundred and four dollars they needed to have by the end of the calendar month, just by allowing students to pelt them with water balloons and spray guns, but as he gazed down at the numbers in the ledger, he knew that they really did not have a choice.

"Do or die, gentlemen," Sam said seriously, uniting their hands in the middle of a small circle.  
"I choose the latter," Blaine muttered under his breath.

Blaine slid his sunglasses down over his eyes as he surveyed the area they had set up on the quad. Sam and Jake were busily setting up tubs of water balloons, having recruited some sophomore girl who had a bit of a thing for Sam to hand them out and deal with the money.

"Stop worrying so much," Adam said brightly, clapping a hand on his shoulder and squeezing a little too hard.  
"Two thousand, seven hundred and four, Adam," Blaine mumbled through gritted teeth, grinding the heel of his shoe into the ground. "That's.. That's, like, six hundred and seventy something apiece. I don't think anyone would pay five dollars to see me wet."

Adam laughed softly, twisting on his heel to step backwards towards the makeshift stage. "Don't undervalue yourself," he called out in response. "I've seen what's under there. Not bad, Anderson." He winked, before turning and jogging up the steps, the sun beaming down over his fair skin.

Blaine sighed under his breath, tugging off the shades and sticking them in his pocket, rubbing at his eyes a little. At least they had Sam, and Jake. All they needed were a few girls with more money than sense and those two would bring it a couple of hundred if nothing else.

"Hey, Blaine!"  
Blaine lifted his head at the sound of Sam's voice, grunting as a cold water bomb hit his chest and exploded over the material. The white fabric already began to soak through, highlighting the curves of his torso beneath. He pointed at the tub Tina was holding, marked with a dollar sign on the front, and in turn Sam deposited a ten dollar bill in with a cheeky grin.

By mid-afternoon, Blaine had been soaked to the skin and dried off in the sun at least half a dozen times. The stall proved fairly popular, even if in some cases he was pretty sure the customers were more interested in just throwing things at them than the usual purposes of this kind of contest.

Blaine could deal with that, even though the water bombs felt like they were bruising his skin and he could feel a small pool of icy cold water soaking at his boxer briefs, sending a frequent shiver down his spine.

As he'd expected, the girls loved Sam and Jake, dumbly thrusting notes at Tina as they sprayed the boys from the guns. The sun worked in their favor too, for every time they dried off again, there was someone ready to make sure they didn't stay that way for long.

Blaine hovered near one edge, feeling more self-conscious where the other three boys had started to enjoy themselves. His shirt was half-dry against his skin and he wondered vaguely if he could slip away for long enough to get some hot coffee in his system, to counter-act the cold of the water.

He started as he felt a jet-stream of water zip down his torso, his head snapping up as that jet landed right on his right nipple. It was a jolt to his system, making him stumble back a step. Blaine peered through the crowd to see where it was coming from, matching up the stream to a pair of long hands.

The jet-stream stopped, the gun probably needing refilling, and Blaine met the eyes of Sebastian Smythe, a fellow junior, who was in his advanced stage fighting class. Sebastian waved at him brightly, before handing another note over to Tina, receiving a stack of water bombs in return.

So, maybe Blaine had been wrong. Maybe there was one person on campus who would pay quite a lot to see him wet. The same someone who had been persistently hitting on him since they'd first met at a party in some frat house in freshman year.

_"Blaine? Right?"  
__Blaine looked up from the beer he wasn't really drinking, into a pair of bright green eyes. He'd had too much already, could feel it in how everything was a little hazy around the edges, how his legs had wobbled when he'd made to stand up earlier. _

_Blaine nodded, letting out a huff when the stranger sat himself down beside him uninvited.  
__"Sebastian. Smythe. Theatre major, we have some mutual friends."  
__"Everyone s'a mutual friend," Blaine mumbled, taking a sip of his beer after all. Mistake number one._

_Sebastian's laugh had been soft and tantalising, creeping up the back of his neck. It had been a long time since Blaine had thought of anyone like that - thought of a boy like that. His high school relationship had ended in flames and tears, and it still left an imprint on his heart, even now that he was far from Ohio and all its memories._

_His hand had been on Blaine's thigh for a few minutes before the shorter boy registered it, his gaze turning onto Sebastian. He glanced at his lips, had made to lean in, when Sebastian stood up._

_"Come on," Sebastian murmured, reaching for his hand. "I'll walk you back to your dorm."_

_Mistake number two._

_Blaine fumbled with the key to his room, cursing under his breath as the metal scratched fruitlessly against the lock, until finally sliding it into place, a satisfying click following. He tripped over the doorframe, hissing slightly given that he already had a bruise on his big toe from how often he did that sober._

_His roommate was still out, probably at the party he'd just left from, and that was really a blessing since Sebastian was pressing in against his back, his hands pushing up at the bottom of his shirt. _

_They made it to the bed, lips ghosting close but never quite touching. Blaine's knees had hit the back of the bed, Sebastian pressing him down against the mattress. Mistake number three. By the time Sebastian's lips had mapped out the juncture of his neck, Blaine had passed out and was snoring quietly._

Blaine had expected Sebastian to avoid him steadfastly after the incident, but on the contrary, he seemed that much more intrigued by him, his flirting unsubtle, his gaze lingering. Blaine pulled what could only be considered the most asshole move he could. He pretended like he didn't remember a thing from the night before and when Sebastian asked him the next day how he was, Blaine had responded by asking _who_ he was.

He got the feeling Sebastian never quite believed him though, something in the way his eyes pierced right into him. It was like he was just waiting for Blaine to let him back to his room again, to pick up from where things had come to an abrupt end. Blaine didn't give him the opportunity. He avoided the parties Sebastian went to, moderated his alcohol consumption with copious amounts of water, and made sure any conversation with the other boy happened only sober.

And here he was, pelting him with water like his life depended on it. When Sebastian went to hand over another note, Blaine sighed under his breath. He leaned down at the front of the stage, tapping Tina on the shoulder lightly.

"Can't you cut him off or something?" he asked hopefully, his eyes ticking over the notes in the tub, nibbling on his lip nervously at all the one dollar notes.  
Tina raised an eyebrow. "You do not want me to cut him off," she said firmly.

Blaine opened his mouth to question her statement, but it was answered for him as he watched Sebastian's hand shove a one hundred dollar bill into the tub.  
"I'd give a five hundred if you agree to take the shirt off," Sebastian grinned.

Maybe it wasn't just the girls with more money than sense that he should have been hoping for.

Blaine didn't take his shirt off - he didn't care how much Sebastian was stuffing into that tub - but he did consent in letting Sam rip a tear down the front as far as navel, before helping the other boys to do the same. The girls began to pelt Sam and Jake more furiously, and Sebastian kept up his ridiculously high tipping and moved closer to Blaine with each round.

By the time the water bombs were finished up and the sun was starting to set, the tub was overflowing with notes. Blaine wasn't sure his optimism stretched to believing that they'd raised the amount they needed, but it was something, at least.

The boys left him to get dried off, Sam with Tina and Jake with some girl from the crowd, and Adam with just a cheery wave. Blaine dried off the end of the stage with an abandoned and already sodden towel, before sitting down, tipping the contents of the tub out over the slats.

"Want a hand? I nearly majored in Accounting, so…" Sebastian smile was wide, but not snarky, as he stepped forward. He waited to be invited to sit this time, before hopping up beside Blaine onto the stage.

They counted out the notes into piles, each mumbling figures under their breath, before looking over at each other, and the green piles over the wood, each pile comprising of five hundred dollars.

Blaine's eyes ticked over the piles. One, two, three… Six. "Six piles," Blaine murmured in disbelief.  
"And then a few," Sebastian added, pointing to several straggling fives.  
"That's," Blaine mumbled, running a hand through his damp curls.  
"Over three thousand dollars," Sebastian finished for him, with a grin.

Blaine narrowed his eyes, cocking his head as he looked at him. "And how much of that was you, huh?" he teased, laughing almost breathlessly.  
Sebastian shrugged. "Don't know. Doesn't matter."

Silence fell between the two boys as they looked over the notes, before Blaine carefully started piling them back up again.  
"You didn't need to do that," Blaine said quietly, folding the last fives into the tub and clipping the lid onto the top.

"You say that like I didn't get my money's worth," Sebastian chuckled lazily, leaning back onto his palms and kicking his long legs against the side of the stage.  
Blaine grimaced. "You make it sound like prostitution."

Sebastian didn't reply straight away, merely cleared his throat. "Will you go out with me?" he asked abruptly.  
Blaine paused, folding his arms over his chest. Was that what all the dollar flinging had been about? Just to get him back into bed, like Sebastian had been trying so hard to do for over two years now?

"You're allowed to say no. If you don't want to. But I'd like to think you want to. Maybe just a little bit?" Sebastian seemed almost pleading, his knuckles white as he clung to the edge of the stage.  
Blaine smiled a little. "How long have you been waiting to ask me out, Sebastian?"

Sebastian's cheeks coloured a little and he ducked his gaze. "Approximately seven hundred and eighty two days."  
Blaine scrunched up his nose, trying to do a brief mental calculation in his head. "Since..the first day of Theatre 101?"

The taller boy's lips quirked up in a smile. "Something like that," he murmured. "Approximately seven hundred and sixty three since I realized how much I wanted to kiss you," he added, his voice lowering as his face came in a little closer.  
Blaine swallowed, his gaze flickering down to Sebastian's lips. "The party."

Sebastian grinned, his teeth glinting in the low light. "So you _do_ remember."  
Blaine groaned, tipping his head to one side and squeezing his eyes shut. "Maybe a little," he murmured, his breath hitching as he felt Sebastian's lips on the side of his neck. Muscle memory sent shivers down his spine, his hand coming up to cup his cheek.

"Five seconds until the first time we kiss," Blaine whispered, his eyelashes brushing Sebastian's cheekbones as he joined their lips in a sweet kiss.


	3. Auf Wiederseh'n Sweetheart

_When war is declared, Blaine and Sebastian find the only solace they have in leaving England to be that they may leave together, a twisted freedom from their double lives at home _{notes} warning for major character death. This is possibly my favourite thing I've ever written, so I really hope you all enjoy it! The title comes from the Vera Lynn song, and I recommend listening to it, but it's beautiful. [T]

* * *

_August 17th, 1939_

Sebastian didn't remember much of America. He'd been only five years old when his mother had immigrated them to England, his memories flickery around the edges. Flashes of waving goodbye to a land that meant little to him yet, the Statue of Liberty shrinking in the distance to the size of a figurine, his hands clutching the railings of the ship that would carry them across the Atlantic. While he never lost his American twang, that little jilt in his accent, something his mother found amusing until her last days on this dear earth, he came to love England as his home.

Days like this, for one. The mid-August sun beat down, warm and unobstructed, not a cloud in the sky. The grass was long beneath his fingertips, irritating his nose a little, but not enough to bother him. The man beside him sneezed - Blaine always was more affected by this time of year than him.

Blaine had been older when his family had left America, in the wake of his elder brother's death. He had just been a child, Blaine even younger than that. In all the time that Sebastian had known him, he'd never heard Blaine speak much of him, not to him, nor to Rachel. All he knew was that he'd died of influenza and, in response, his parents had promptly packed them off to England.

Their mothers had met at the grocer's on the corner between their two houses - or, rather, Blaine and Sebastian had met, getting hauled to the front of the store by the frustrated owner as he caught the two seeing who could stuff more apples into their sweater without getting caught. As two American women in England with a son apiece and husbands who were either physically absent or just spent more time drinking at the local pub than at home, they had bonded quickly.

It had been Sebastian that Blaine had turned to when his father didn't come home one evening; drunk himself to death or ran off with another woman, they never did find out. Blaine, who went to rouse his mother one morning a fortnight later to find her unmoving and pale against the sheets.

Sebastian's own mother had lived until as much as a few months previously, but even then Blaine had been there, a constant presence by his side as he organized the funeral and other details, even though he had responsibilities of his own at home. As for his father, he had died serving for his country in the Great War. Sebastian had been shown photos, once upon a time, but told little.

Blaine, incidentally, had lost his accent. He spoke like a native Englishman, the odd word slipping from time to time, but only ever around Sebastian. Blaine blamed Sebastian for that, said it was his fault for throwing him off. Always said with a smile, a hand to his arm, long eyelashes fluttering over his flushed cheekbones. So Sebastian couldn't find it in him to be too apologetic.

His companion sneezed again, Sebastian reaching into the breast pocket of his button down to retrieve a handkerchief, passing it to him wordlessly. His initials were embroidered in the corner, a hobby his mother had rather taken to in her last few bedridden weeks.

Blaine offered it back, but Sebastian shook his head, holding up a hand.  
"Keep it," he smiled, rolling onto his side on the soft grass, propping his head up on his hand. "I have another dozen at home, after all."  
The younger man laughed, such a gentle sound that it seemed to merge into the light breeze whipping over the blades of grass and their stationary bodies. "I shall have to remember never to buy another handkerchief again. Not when I have a lifetime's supply just down the road," Blaine teased, folding the offending handkerchief neatly and tucking it into the pocket of his slacks.

Sebastian hummed, his eyes tracing the contours of Blaine's profile in the afternoon sun. Blaine's hands lay flat against the grass, the skin around his nails slightly stained, as they always were from his work at the post office. He had a bit of a penchant for ending up wearing his work, covered in the ink he used when franking the mail. Sebastian would often call by his house in the evenings to find him with his hands sitting in a basin of warm water in the hopes that it might help to soak the ink from his skin. Blaine would lift one hand from the basin to offer him a wave, sending soap suds flying into his hair.

He had the hands of a musician, Sebastian had always said. And he did play, well, in fact. But, by Blaine's standards, not well enough that he would ever take those jobs going at the nearby theatre, in constant demand for a dinner-time piano player. Blaine would click his tongue off the backs of his teeth.

_Not suitable for a family man like me, Sebastian. Those late hours._

Sebastian wished to take one of Blaine's hands in his and maybe he would have if it hadn't been for the cry of "daddy!" across the wide field. It wouldn't have been the first time. He knew the cracked texture of Blaine's fingertips and how the lines along his palm looped and connected. He had studied each one, time and time again, committing them to memory, should he ever lose the privilege of spending his time doing so.

"Daddy!" Lucy cried again, dipping in and out of sight as she scampered across the grass, her yellow summer dress bouncing up around her ankles. She had yellow bows in her hair, too. Yellow to match the dress that Rachel was wearing, as she followed behind her with a little more grace and care than her daughter.

"Princess!" Blaine responded just as eagerly, raising himself to his knees with his arms outspread to meet his daughter. She looked like him, as Sebastian had often commented. Her hair wildly curly, if closer to Rachel's shade than Blaine's, wide hazel eyes and a smile that knocked one sideways.

Lucy barreled into Blaine's arms, wrapping her own tightly around her father's neck. She spied Sebastian over his shoulder, waving her hand at him. "'llo, Uncle Bastian," she greeted politely, if a little muffled where she had her face pressed into Blaine's collar. Every bit her father's daughter.

Rachel laughed as she joined them, setting herself down in the grass with a light huff. "It's so _hot_ out here," she groaned, tipping her head back to catch the rays across her face. "I want a butler to bring me lemonade and a parasol." She pretended to swoon, laying back against the grass fully, arm splayed across her forehead.

"No butlers here, my dear," Blaine laughed, bouncing Lucy on his lap, encouraging her small cries of exaltation.  
Sebastian tugged on one of Rachel's curls affectionately, before he, too, settled back down on the grass, folding his hands across his stomach.

Blaine had met Rachel at the very place of his work. She'd gotten into an awful argument with the cashier on duty and Blaine had stepped in to rectify the situation, ever the gentleman. Blaine had taken her to dinner and the rest, as they say, was history.

They had been married in a small ceremony in 1934 and Lucy had been born only a year later. Sebastian's mother had attended the wedding, too, and spent most of it making quiet comments to Sebastian under her breath about how she would bet her remaining days that that girl was pregnant.

She'd been right, and lived very comfortably for those remaining days, if nothing else.

Lucy tired of her little game with her father after a time, settling down with her mother on the grass. Blaine lay between them and Sebastian, only a few moments passing before the latter felt his companion seeking out the touch of his fingers.

They laced their hands together silently, the four staring up at the cloudless sky. A rumble started across the sky, one akin to thunder. It was hot, but it was not quite that hot. The planes rushed overhead soon after, leaving tail wisps in their wake.

"Woooosh!" Lucy squealed, giggling to herself before settling down again.  
The other three were silent for a time, before Blaine spoke up.  
"It won't be long now," he commented quietly and while Rachel's gaze fell to her husband, Blaine's fell to Sebastian.

_September 17th 1939_

Sebastian teased Blaine relentlessly about how much better he looked in the army green than him, peering into the mirror and commenting how well it suited his eyes. Standing by his side, a little shorter as he had always been, Blaine plucked at his with one eyebrow raised.

"Any shorter and they wouldn't have let you in, comrade" Sebastian snorted, narrowly dodging a blow to the side of his head.  
"Keep it up and you won't even make it to Calais," Blaine informed him pointedly, whistling as he turned on his heel and marched from the house.

Rachel came to the docks to see them both off, Lucy absent from her side.  
"You didn't bring her," Blaine murmured, looking over past Rachel's shoulder as if he might still see his darling baby girl skipping her way towards him, her bows matched to her dress as ever.

His wife sighed, busying her worrying hands with smoothing off the shoulders of Blaine's uniform. "I didn't want her to see all this," she replied quietly. "I left her with Mrs Jones next door."

_All this_ wasn't half as bad as Sebastian had expected it to be. Maybe there was still so much optimism in the air, waves and shouts in the air as friends and family said goodbye to their loved ones, boarding the ships already in hoards.

Sebastian watched Blaine's expression carefully. He knew how much Lucy meant to him, Rachel, too. He wondered if Blaine had said any kind of goodbye as he put Lucy to bed the night before. Or if Rachel had said her own goodbyes, the kind exchanged between a married couple, in the privacy of their own bedroom.

He did not allow himself to linger on the latter.

"And someone had to say goodbye to you, too, Sebastian," Rachel murmured softly, smiling although her eyes were damp with unshed tears. Her red lipstick was a little patchy; at his side, Blaine was wiping a slight smudge from his jawline with the pad of his thumb.

"Times like this, don't you wish you had a gal, too?"  
Sebastian raised an eyebrow, but did not respond, simply accepting her warm hug. Someone for him to say goodbye to, someone for him to have to leave behind. No, times like this did not make him wish he had a girl. They made him grateful that the person he cared most about in the world would be right alongside him. The war would only last a month or so, they said. They had nothing to fear out there, they said.

Sebastian had had plenty of girls in the past. None of them interested him much, not their idle chatter or their charming ways. But they had been distractions, enough to keep him going. He had once frequented a club of another type, where men were quick to sit on the edge of his knees and play with the collar of his shirt.

But it hadn't been what he wanted. He had no interest in men if they weren't Blaine, no interest in their hands if they weren't Blaine's intricate ones, no interest in lips if they weren't Blaine's, curved and full, and still so unknown to him.

"Take care of him," Rachel whispered into Sebastian's ear, her hands digging into his back as she hugged him. "You're the only person I would trust to do that."  
Sebastian nodded stiffly as she pulled away. Of course he would take care of Blaine. But not for her.

_January 17th 1940_

The war did not last a month, and there was plenty to fear. The enemy was the least of their worries much of the time, what with the damp in the trenches and the bugs and the rats that seemed to nest in ever corner of their small world, bringing with them disease and despair.

Sebastian saw more soldiers get sent home with limbs cut off from trench foot than from actual, combat-caused injuries, and made a particular point about keeping his feet as dry as he possibly could.

Blaine received frequent letters from Rachel, and Lucy, back in England, but of all the things they had shared in their lives together, he did not show Sebastian a single one, nor did he divulge any of the contents. Sebastian did not pry - it was not his place to, not where family was concerned and given the conditions they were in.

The front did not suit Blaine. He was not the kind of man made to be a soldier; neither were many of them in that trench, banded together by a kind of desperate hope that one day an end might come. Sebastian felt himself hardening from every death he witnessed, every drop of dried blood against the earth. But Blaine couldn't take it so easily.

It was the nightmares that worried Sebastian the most. He'd first discovered him tossing and turning in his sack late one night when he'd been on watch, his eyebrows crinkling into a frown, quickly grabbing ahold of him. He'd been terrified he could choke himself from all the squirming alone, let alone what was filling his head so as to contort his body so.

From then on, he'd taken to swapping watches accordingly, making sure he would be sleeping when Blaine was, and awake when his companion was. If Blaine noticed the efforts he'd gone to, he didn't mention it, but he certainly didn't resist when Sebastian spent the nights from then on curled up beside him, always ready to wake when necessary.

Most mornings, Blaine would wake to cool dawn to find Sebastian sound asleep, with his arms wrapped tightly around his waist, keeping him locked down from being able to injure himself in the confined space. The nightmares lessened with Sebastian there, but the images remained burned behind his retinas.

"It's the faces, so many faces," Blaine murmured one night, as the two men shared between them some rare pieces of chocolate that had found their way through the long line of communications to them. "I see them the moment I close my eyes. All the men I have killed. All the men who won't return to their families. Because of _me."_

He was shaking, the chocolate falling to pieces in his hand. Sebastian caught the crumbs in his palm, pressing the sugary treat to Blaine's lips until they parted willingly, accepting his thumb into his mouth. The shaking subsided and Sebastian held him until he fell asleep. That night, Blaine slept soundly, for the first time in months.

_May 17th, 1940_

"Shit," Sebastian swore under his breath, his hands fumbling in the darkness as the clip on his rifle jammed. _"Shit_."  
Grenades whistled over his head, his body crouched low in the mud, his feet sinking in so deep he wondered vaguely if he'd ever be able to move from that position again. Those were things he could easily ignore, however.

The yells, the screams of pain, they were harder to ignore. Especially when many came from so close by, comrades, his brothers whom he had shared this time with. Falling around him like toy soldiers and he was _supposed_ to just ignore it, to keep focusing forward on the enemy lines.

It was getting harder every day to let everything roll of off his shoulders, as clean as the dust that these lives around him were reduced to. Harder when every week there were new men being brought in, to replace those that had been lost, harder when every week spirits fell evermore.

He tossed the rifle aside with a grunt. It was useless to him now. He stuffed hand into his pocket, plucking the grenade into his fist. He scanned the expanse ahead of him. It was dark, too dark to think about aim or target.

_Just pull and throw._

Sebastian tore the clip free with his teeth, spitting it into the dirt before launching it as far as he could over the plain. He watched with grim satisfaction as a small explosion appeared on the horizon. Sebastian told himself that he heard at least one death cry out there. At least one to make up for his fallen comrades.

"Smythe," someone hissed across the plain, his head whipping around. "_Sebastian_, where are you?"  
Sebastian dug around in his pocket for his lighter, flipping it open and sparking it for long enough to give the man some kind of signal.

He couldn't tell who it was, probably wouldn't have been able to even if it had been light, with the mud caked over the man's face. His hand clamped down over his shoulder, his breathing heavy. "Sebastian, it's Blaine, he's-"

Sebastian stumbled over his feet in his haste to start moving back towards the trenches, any thought of his orders or his duties flooding out of his mind. He heard the man calling out after him, warning him, maybe, but it was just white noise, blending in among the sounds of the war that he was running away from.

His feet kept stumbling in the mud, his uniform too heavy on his limbs, holding him back. He could see men huddled around the entrance to the trenches, hear their voices as they orchestrated something down there, something being passed between them. Someone.

_Blaine._

"Let me through," Sebastian growled as he neared the crowd, pushing past the ring of soldiers. His feet stilled, his heart rising up into his throat, and for a moment Sebastian was sure he might throw up.

Blaine wasn't still, not yet, but rather shuddering on the ground, his head propped up in James' lap, eyelids heavy. The blood had soaked through the front of his uniform, shining up dark in the dim lights of the trenches.

"We don't know what happened, we found him like this," James explained quietly, not saying a word as Sebastian pushed him away to take his place at Blaine's head. "Maybe we should have left him there."

"No," Sebastian whispered, only registering the shaking in his hands as he pushed the hair back from Blaine's forehead gently. _Fuck protocol._ "Thank you for bringing him back," he said quietly, his tears making tracks through the dirt on his cheeks.

Someone whispered over his head, the men taking a respectable step back from the two of them. Many removed their helmets, holding them over their chests, heads bowed as they surrounded the pair.

"Blaine, it's me," Sebastian murmured, his hand still stroking Blaine's forehead furiously, as if any touch might be enough for him to keep his eyes open. "Blaine, I'm here."  
"Sebastian," Blaine whispered, his hand flailing against his blood-sodden chest, a choked sound coming from his throat. In his hand, Sebastian could just make out his handkerchief, _S.S._ shining up from the corner, although it was streaked red with blood.

Sebastian shushed him gently, taking the hand in his own. He didn't care that it was covered in blood, he held it so fiercely, squeezing down around his fingers. "You just keep those eyes open, you hear me, B? You keep them open. They'll be coming to fix you up, they're coming to help you right now."

It was a lie, it was all lies. No one would come, the medics would take one look at Blaine and considered him a lost cause. There was probably little they could do anyway, particularly when they'd have to get Blaine to the end of the trenches, not the other way around.

"No one's coming, Bastian," Blaine murmured, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "But you're here."  
Sebastian nodded, trying to control the sobs that were threatening to sound, bubbling up in his chest. "I'm here."

Their eyes met and every moment of their lives together came back, a swirl of memories above their heads. Every touch of fingertips, hidden beneath the dinner table or in a church pew, accidental brushes, hugs that lingered just a moment too long. Sebastian didn't have time to hesitate anymore, he didn't have time to be scared.

Sebastian leaned his head down, pressing his lips to Blaine's fiercely, his eyes squeezing shut. He tried to remember every detail: how Blaine breathed against his mouth, how his lips wrapped around Sebastian's upper one, how much tighter he gripped his hand. Around them, the men closed their eyes, allowing their comrade to say goodbye to his best friend. His love.

"Don't forget about me," Blaine whispered, his eyes closed, his breathing steady and even.  
Sebastian watched as his own tears fell to Blaine's face, leaving a slight imprint there. He laughed wetly, rubbing his thumb over the dips of Blaine's knuckles. "Never."

"Sebastian?" Blaine said softly, so softly that Sebastian nearly missed it.  
Sebastian kissed his forehead lightly, trying to ignore the rising panic in his chest as Blaine's grip started to loosen on his hand.  
"I love you, Sebastian. I've always loved you."  
"I love you, too, Blaine," Sebastian replied with a small smile, but it was five words Blaine would never hear as his heart came to a standstill in his chest.

"No," Sebastian whispered, clinging to Blaine's body as the men stepped forward to try and move him away. "No, _no._ Blaine, you can't leave me. He's just _resting_, don't you dare take him from me," he snapped at the men around him.

But they overpowered him, fourteen of them to one of him, dragging him back and against the wall of the trenches as Blaine was lifted and carried out of his line of sight.

_July 17th, 1940_

Sebastian wished in his quiet moments the bullet that had seared his leg could have lodged into his chest, instead. That he could be laid to rest alongside Blaine on the continent, not returning to England with a splint and a walking stick and the orders that he should return in six months, following medical examination.

He had no interest in returning to England. He considered going back to America, once the war was over. Somewhere far from the memories that he had of that small town in the south, far from Rachel, and Lucy, with her big eyes that reminded him always so much of Blaine.

Rachel and Lucy who were the first at his door when he did return, adjusting in fits and starts to life with only one good leg. The cane irritated him, made his arm ache and himself feel useless. He slammed the door open at their persistent knocking, and one glance at Lucy told him he would never be able to look at the little girl again.

Sebastian wondered if he was supposed to apologize, for letting Blaine die, whether he was responsible. He'd promised to take care of him and he hadn't. He'd broken that promise to himself and now Blaine was another of those who would not return to his family. Nor to him.

But Rachel didn't seem to be there for an apology, rather to wrap her arms around him as fiercely as she had the day he had left, at the docks. She fretted and fussed over him, making plans to check in daily with food and to help with the house. Sebastian brushed her off; he was injured, not an invalid. Maybe the help would have been useful, but he didn't want it. He didn't want to be around anyone.

She sensed his reluctance and politely made her move to leave, Lucy clutching at her hand and wondering why Uncle Bastian wasn't smiling like he used to. Wondering if soon her daddy would be home, and whether he'd be as sullen, too.

"Sebastian?" Rachel asked, hovering on the doorstep to his house. "Did he say anything? About us? You were there with him, in those last moments, weren't you?"  
Sebastian was silent for a moment.

_I love you, Sebastian. I've always loved you._

"He said that he loved you, both of you. And that he would always be with you," Sebastian said, before closing the door, hoping to god that he would never have to lie to Rachel again.

_August 17th, 1954_

Sebastian never was sent back to the front. In going to his medical examination, it was found that the wound had become infected and in the spring of 1941, his leg was removed from the knee down. One cane became two, two vile pieces of wood that Sebastian liked to kick with his good leg in his spare time, of which he had plenty.

They kept talking of these prosthetic legs, of how one day Sebastian might even walk unassisted again. Sebastian sneered off their suggestions. He had no faith in medical science or doctors, their grand ideas which had gotten them nowhere in the past.

Against his better judgement, Sebastian remained in England after the war. Maybe it helped that Rachel and Lucy had moved away when the war ended, Blaine's daughter now a beautiful young woman with all the graces of her father, whom she had barely had time to get to know.

Sebastian often found his nights spent at the theatre nearby. The piano player was nothing like Blaine had been, even if the theatre had never gotten to know of his talents. He looked too serious as he played, too. Not full of laughter and smiles as Blaine had been whenever he got his fingers on the keys of the instrument.

Whisky became Sebastian's drink of choice, and would ultimately lead to his death as a quiet old man tucked up in that house. The waitresses at the theatre came to know him, the man who sat quietly in the corner, ordering drink after drink and always overpaying before he left.

They had a singer in that night, it had been all the buzz in the town for the past fortnight. It was too busy for Sebastian's liking, but he had no desire to drink alone tonight. At least there, he was in the company of others, regardless of whether or not he said a single word to another.

He didn't register that the tears had began dripping down his face until one of the waitresses came to refill his glass, laying a hand on his shoulder and asking if he was alright. Sebastian shrugged her off without a word, but making no move to wipe his cheeks. The glass shook in his hand as he picked it up, the liquid sloshing over his pants. Some might take him for a drunk, but that wasn't it.

Sebastian watched couples on the dance floor, gently swaying to the tune, arms wrapped around their lovers. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to imagine that Blaine was there with him. That they could dance together, Blaine's face tucked into the crook of his neck. How fiercely he would hold him. How he would find a way to never let go again.

Some of the other customers began to sing along; they knew the tune. Sebastian didn't sing, but he felt the words on his tongue, felt them in every beat of his heart.

_We'll meet again, sweetheart  
__This lovely day has flown away  
__The time has come to part  
__We'll kiss again, like this again  
__Don't let the teardrops start  
__With love that's true, I'll wait for you  
__Auf wiedersehen, sweetheart_


	4. Head Rush

_Blaine should have known better than to knock on the big scary mansion at the end of the street, but he did really need to sell those cookies if the Glee club was going to make it to Nationals _{notes} **warning** for a little bit of blood/gore stuff at the end [T]

* * *

It was saying something that Blaine had had to sweet talk the leaders of the local Girl Scouts Group to even get to their cookie distributors, and avoid making a loss just in getting the stock. Not to mention that he'd then somehow ended up volunteering himself to lead a singalong the following weekend.

Blaine would like to see even one other member of the New Directions going to those sort of lengths for the sake of their Glee club. Inevitably, it always seemed to fall to his shoulders.

It made him pine for the familiarity of Dalton, and the Warblers, the nostalgia overpowering him sometimes with how strongly it could rise from somewhere deep in his chest. The Warblers had been a team, a cohesive unit that worked and moved as one. With the New Directions, it sometimes felt like he was the anchor, needed to even keep everyone in the same room for an hour long rehearsal.

He sighed under his breath as he carted along the cart of cookies down his street, pushing aside his feelings of resentment, not to mention embarrassment, in favor of tackling the task at hand. There were far more humiliating jobs in the world - in fact, he'd taken to listing them in his head as he trekked from house to house.

Not to mention Blaine, himself, had done more embarrassing things. The Gap, February 2011 came frequently to mind.

That he lived in an affluent neighborhood was a definite advantage in this case, many of the doors he knocked on buying several boxes at a time. Not because they necessarily wanted them, but because they could afford to. And perhaps because they could see the desperation behind Blaine's wide smile as he showed them the different boxes with unfaltering charm and grace.

He'd looped his block twice now in the past fortnight, receiving surprisingly few irritated neighbors at the persistent salesman and his rattling cart of cookies. All houses on the block, except for one.

Blaine had heard the stories, all the kids around this area had. About the big old house at the end of the street with the wild, overgrown garden and the rusted gates. It had once been a sanitarium, the name still visible in the arch as one walked in, if one dared to at all, that was. It was said to be haunted - big old house, of course it was said to be haunted. By the spirits of those once locked in there, by some other demons - the stories varied.

Whether anyone actually lived there was a mystery. Some people said they'd seen a man around from time to time, around dusk, typically. A tall man with pale skin and eyes that glowed green, with long elegant fingers to push open the creaking gates to his mansion.

Blaine wasn't sure what he believed, in regards to that house. But, for one reason or another, he just hadn't gone near it in his rounds. But as he glanced down at his cart that day, he noted with some resentment how sales seemed to be dwindling. He couldn't blame them. Many of them must have had six or seven boxes of cookies piling up in their kitchens, having been far too generous up until this point already.

He sighed, creaking his cart to a standstill right on the perimeter of the house at the end of the street. It made him feel small, the shadow of the building looming up over him. He half expected a swirl of bats or crows to swoop out from under the awning, just to frighten him away.

"It's just another house," Blaine whispered to himself firmly, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle on the cart, tugging it up the path towards the front door. The wood was falling to pieces, huge splinters peeling away from the frame, viciously sharp. There was no visible knocker, or a doorbell, but a chain hanging from the door that swung lightly in the breeze.

Taking a breath, Blaine tugged on it sharply, hearing the clanging of a bell from somewhere within the house. He wasn't even sure he expected the door to open, altogether surprised when it did so only a matter of moments later. It opened just a crack, a single green eye meeting his own through that gap.

"Yes?" the occupant asked, drawing out the word, the final sound resonating almost as a hiss.  
"Uh, hello. Sir." Was it even a man? Gosh, Blaine hoped so, or he wasn't going to sell any cookies. "I'm selling cookies to help fund my glee club's trip to the Nationals competition and I would-"

The man (woman? Person?) groaned, effectively cutting Blaine's sales pitch short. "Please stop, you're giving me a headache."  
Blaine's cheeks coloured, his only consolation being that he was now confident it was, in fact, a man on the other side of that door. "I'm sorry, I- Would you like me to leave?"

There was a moment of silence, the sound of a ticking clock coming from somewhere within the house.  
"You can come in and I'll buy as many of these damn cookies as you want. Just as long as you agree not to tell me anymore of your sob story."

Blaine frowned, biting back a haughty retort about how it was a very serious problem, and did he understand just how much of a crisis the lack of funding for the arts _really_ was - because this man had just agreed to buy as many of his damn cookie as Blaine wanted. And there was an offer he could not refuse.

"Cross my heart," Blaine piped back sweetly, beaming as the door widened to allow him entrance. His cart rattled over the door frame as he made his way in, wrinkling up his nose at the layer of dust that seemed to be etched over every available surface of the house. He snuffled a little, before sneezing, hiding it into his wrist.

"Bless you," the man said, Blaine's gaze moving over to where he was leaning against another doorframe, one which appeared to lead towards a kind of drawing room.  
Blaine allowed himself a moment to really take a look at the man whose house he'd found himself in.

He was tall and slender as some of the gossip's tales had said, so Blaine assumed this to be the man occasionally spotted at dusk around the area. His eyes were an extraordinary shade of green, so vibrant that they seemed almost unreal. He was dressed all in black, an expensive looking silk shirt loose at the collar, and black pants that hugged the curves of his long legs.

"Sebastian," the man offered, tapping the nails of one hand on the opposite side of the doorframe, blocking that route for the time being. "If that was what you were searching for in your full body scan there." He grinned easily, clearly unperturbed by the intensity of Blaine's gaze.

Blaine's cleared his throat a little, setting the handle down on his cart before folding his arms over his chest self-consciously. "Blaine. Anderson. I live at number forty-two."  
"Cherry tree," Sebastian replied softly, his hand slowly moving down to rest at his side.  
"Excuse me?" Blaine quirked an eyebrow in confusion. Something about this man didn't seem quite..right, to him.

"Every house on this street was once known by the name of a tree, not by numbers. Forty-two, that was the cherry tree. Mine was the grand oak."  
"Oh." Blaine was sure he'd heard something to a similar effect once from an older couple who lived a few doors down, but he'd never paid much attention. Sebastian seemed a little young to be so interested in local history, especially such fine details. But then again, if the house was anything to go by, the man was hardly the atypical twenty something American male. An eccentric, perhaps.

"Cherry seems particular appropriate for you," Sebastian smirked, his long eyelashes fluttering over his eyes as he looked him over once before nodding a little, as if a sign of approval. "Do come in, Blaine."

Sebastian showed him into the drawing room that he had previously been blocking, gesturing to a rocking chair by the window, although the curtains were drawn tightly shut despite the lovely day right outside. He, himself, continued to stand, unnaturally still as he settled a few feet from Blaine.

The more Blaine looked at Sebastian, the more mesmerized he was - and not least by his skin, so pale it was almost translucent. He couldn't help but idly wonder how it feel beneath his fingertips, smooth as marble or rough from time and age.

"So," Blaine said after a time in which Sebastian said nothing, simply continuing to watch him with obvious interest. "Cookies? You said you'd be interested in buying some."  
"Cookies," Sebastian repeated, amusement quirking at the corners of his mouth and crinkling his eyes. "Of course."

His gaze shifted to Blaine's cart, eyes ticking over the boxes.  
"Five dollars a box," Blaine offered helpfully, sparing any other details given Sebastian's earlier warning regarding sob stories.  
Sebastian shrugged, reaching into his pocket. "I'll take the lot."

Blaine gaped at him in surprise. Sebastian didn't even look like he _ate_ cookies, let alone why one man would need thirty seven boxes of them. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly, eyeing him with some degree of suspicion.  
"Are you getting sentimental about letting them go, now?" Sebastian retorted, gliding over the room to press the notes into his hand, before looking down at the boxes. "You can keep the cart. I've greatly enjoyed watching you trundle it around the block these past few weeks."

The younger boy shifted on his seat, the wood creaking beneath the movement, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. He wasn't sure whether to be flattered or in some way concerned, that this man had not only been watching him but was now willing to buy every last cookie. To help him with a cause he had no interest in even hearing about.

"Thank you," Blaine said finally, remembering his manners. "That's very generous of you." He thumbed over the notes, letting out a soft whistle under his breath. It seemed like more than enough, but at this point he didn't dare question Sebastian's actions.

Blaine started as Sebastian's hands moved to the arms of the chair, his face dizzyingly close as he stooped down.  
"It is, isn't it?" he breathed, the bright glare of his eyes making Blaine feel light headed. "So generous that I think you should return tomorrow. No need for the cookies, just a social call." He smiled a little crookedly. "What do you think, Blaine?"

Blaine felt as though his head had been stuffed up with cotton candy, his tongue heavy in his mouth. He nodded dumbly, unsure what was happening to him, sure of only one thing, indeed. That he would most certainly return tomorrow, to visit his new friend, Sebastian.

"I think I look forward to seeing you then," Blaine replied, a feeling akin to head rush hitting him as Sebastian pulled away.  
"Wonderful," Sebastian purred. "I look forward to it."

Blaine's visits became a daily occurrence, each time carrying less apprehension as he approached the door to Sebastian's home. He rarely had to ring the bell anymore, either, for Sebastian would leave the door ajar for him, often waiting within the very depths of the house with a smile that read: _I've been expecting you._

They talked, mostly. Sebastian took him through the many rooms of the house, pointing out details here and there. The extensive library that he said his family had been collecting for centuries, row upon row of books which did not carry that same level of dust as the rest of the house. He showed Blaine photographs, too, and paintings, telling grandiose stories of his great-great-grandfathers and their exploits.

Gradually, Blaine even managed to open Sebastian up to the idea of a little housekeeping. It was a slow process, a room-to-a-day sort of job, but Sebastian seemed to warm to the idea once he discovered how many old possessions could be rediscovered under the general filth.

Sebastian asked things of Blaine, too. Of his life, of his aspirations, of his family. The way he talked was as if he knew little of the outside world, as if his entire life were confined to this house. Blaine humored him, with pleasure, asking no untoward questions as to where Sebastian's days were spent, when he was not there.

Each visit would end the same. Blaine would be hit with that feeling of head rush, a light pounding in his ears that dissipated a moment later, filled with sense of obligation to return once again the following day. He became more and more conscious of it as the days passed by, his feet carrying him through no mind of his own.

Blaine had some ideas circling regarding Sebastian's odd behavioral patterns. The deep vested knowledge in past history, the way he moved, talked, his _eyes._ He had ideas, but he disliked making assumptions.

That day had left him with streaming eyes and sneezes erupting from him every other second or so. It was his own fault - he'd forgotten his allergy tablet that day even though he'd known that Sebastian and he were to tackle the ballroom. The cobwebs hanging from the chandeliers, the dust coated over the marble floor.

Sebastian had been apologizing profusely all afternoon, offering up lace trimmed handkerchiefs and endless glasses of cool water. He'd half-heartedly suggested perhaps Blaine should go home, but the downturn of his lips had been so forlorn that Blaine couldn't find it in himself to leave.

The room was not quite to its normal state yet - Sebastian had shown Blaine many pictures of what it had looked like in use, filled to the brim with young debutantes and dashing suitors - but it was an improvement. And Blaine did have a history paper, ironically enough, to be working on.

Sebastian's hand brush his forearm, a shiver running down Blaine's spine. He knew what was coming. Blaine laid his own hand against Sebastian's chest, looking up at him firmly.  
"Don't," he murmured, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the silk of his shirt. "You don't need to do that, Sebastian. I'll come back. You don't need to make me."

The taller man looked down at him in shock, at a loss for words in a way that Blaine had never seen from him before. Very slowly, he nodded in consent, but his hand made no move to drop his touch from Blaine's arms. Blaine's thumb was still caressing Sebastian's chest, dipping under the material by accident, brushing over smooth skin.

"Oh," Blaine gasped, drawing his hand back quickly, red spots appearing on his cheeks. "I'm sorry, that was-"  
Sebastian cut him off with a soft whine, reaching for Blaine's hand to place it back against his chest. "Don't you feel it, Blaine?" he whispered, his eyes boring down into Blaine's.

Blaine frowned. "Feel what?" There was nothing to feel beneath his palm, no flicker, no flutter, no- No heart beat.  
"Exactly," Sebastian replied, before letting out a sigh. He dropped Blaine's hand, moving away from him. "You should go now."

Blaine nodded, starting towards the door, his own heart rate picking up a little bit. He paused in the doorway, turning back towards Sebastian. "I'll see you tomorrow, Sebastian," he called out, and he thought he saw a flicker of a smile on the other man's face as he left.

Blaine wasn't sure whether to be nervous the next day. His assumption appeared to be true, however reluctant his brain was still to voice the word out loud.

_Vampire._

The horror movies Cooper used to make him watch sprung up images of men in cloaks with blood on their fangs, hissing and swooping through the night. Sebastian was none of those things. Except for maybe the occasional hissing.

Sebastian was charming and smart, well-versed in literature and art, a wonderful conversation partner. Blaine supposed he'd had a good many years to become so. But more than that, Sebastian may not have been a man, like him, but he felt as human to Blaine as any other. Maybe even more so, just from the raw quality of his soul.

The door was open that day, and he found Sebastian in the kitchen, toying idly with a glass of scotch.  
"Little early in the day, isn't it?" Blaine teased. It was a Saturday, just past midday.

Sebastian looked up with a wry smile. "I was preparing myself for the inevitability of you not coming. It would seem it is a wasted glass, after all," he mused, leaning over to tip the liquid into the sink.  
"I told you I would," Blaine replied, stepping around the kitchen island to stand next to him, his eyes ticking over the curve of Sebastian's neck.

Now that he knew - or, at least, was almost definite that he knew - all his doubts and fears had gone. It seemed twisted: perhaps he should be more afraid, hiding in his house and begging his parents to move to another neighborhood. But he wasn't. All he felt was more of a draw to Sebastian now that he'd stopped compelling him to feel that way.

"Forgive me for being skeptical," Sebastian responded, his tone soft, a hand coming up to brush over Blaine's arm. "It's been a long many years since I've had someone I could put any faith in."

When Blaine didn't reply, merely smiling up at him, Sebastian's hand tightened on his arm, spinning him around until he was pressed up against the taller man's chest. Blaine felt his breath hitch, his eyes falling shut as Sebastian's lips ghosted over the shell of his ear. Sebastian placed a row of gentle kisses down Blaine's neck, each one making him a little weaker at the knees, grateful for the strong arm wrapped around his waist.

Sebastian hesitated at the juncture between Blaine's neck and shoulder, resting his mouth there as the seconds ticked by.  
"It's okay," Blaine whispered, reaching a hand back to card through Sebastian's hair gently. "I trust you."

That seemed all the encouragement he needed, for Sebastian's teeth sunk deep into his flesh, drawing a strangled cry from Blaine's throat. The initial puncture had hurt, but from there it was more pleasurable, pulsated waves flooding through Blaine's body. He gasped for air as Sebastian's hand pressed flat along his hipbone, the touch coupled with the bite putting him into sensory overload, the world going black around him.

When Blaine awoke, it was to find he was laying on the couch of the living room, his head in Sebastian's lap as the other man tugged his fingers lightly through his curls. Blaine gingerly lifted a hand to his neck, but he could feel no mark left behind, no cuts or scars.

"You're okay, I promise," Sebastian murmured. "Your body has to adapt to it."  
Blaine nodded, slowly pressing himself up so he could be face to face with Sebastian. "I trust you," he repeated softly, before kissing his cool lips.  
Sebastian smiled against them, his green eyes flickering when they pulled apart. "In the meantime, I would be rather interested in seeing in what others ways I can get you to make those _beautiful_ noises that were coming out of your mouth."

Blaine's hazy memory of the preceding moments pinpointed his back arching, head tipping back against Sebastian's shoulder, as shameless whines and groans fell from his lips. His cheeks flared hot with embarrassment, but Sebastian simply kissed the coloured spots, a smirk playing on his lips. Blaine laughed softly, searching out Sebastian's lips again. "I'm sure you can figure it out."


	5. Pixie Dust (And The Problems It Causes)

_Blaine expects his summer job to involve copious amounts of hair gel and screaming children, not an irritatingly handsome co-worker who has a tendency to pelt him with fairy dust. _[T]

* * *

Blaine considered himself one of the lucky ones when it came to his line of work for the summer. His costume was laborious to get on, the many layers piling up in a way that was entirely unpleasant in the southern heat, but at the very least, _he_ didn't have to wear a wig. And it wasn't as though he was unused to the piles of gel that went into slicking back his natural curly locks into a smooth, Disney-approved hairstyle.

The girls seemed to have it worse with the wigs; he watched with increasing amounts of sympathy where his Ariels would tug them off as soon as they were backstage with a groan at the sweat sticking to their scalps. He'd managed to purchase a small spray bottle at a local store one weekend and took to having it ready for those such moments, so he could spritz them with cool water until they stopped grumbling.

It was what he'd seen his mom do to Cooper as a kid when the heat had made him agitated and it seemed to be as effective here.

The heat was probably the worst thing about his job. On the odd day, Blaine would be allowed to don Eric's sailor outfit instead, the shirt loose and billowing, allowing the air to kiss his skin instead of getting trapped inside layers of material. But that was rare; they preferred the full Prince get-up, looks of pity passed between the various Princes as they changed before heading out into the sun.

Prince Philip had tried attaching an ice pack to his ribs beneath his costume one day, but it hadn't ended so well when it started melting through the packet and the children soon started shrieking about how he had been stabbed and was bleeding. That maroon coloured costume had its problematic elements, that was for sure.

Then, there was Peter Pan. He certainly looked the part, a wide and cheeky grin seemingly ever-present upon his lips, agile enough to hop up onto walls around the park, more often than not with a trail of children tripping over their own feet to keep up with him. His eyes were green enough to match the green of his costume, vibrant and sparkling. And every single time he saw Blaine, he would merrily scoop a handful of pixie dust (read: glorified glitter) from his pocket and blow it in his direction.

Blaine had gotten a little tired of scooping the offending material out of the corners of his eyes and the top of his costume. Of course he carried it gracefully with the constant audience that came with a job like that, huffing teasingly about what a troublemaker Peter was and gently sprinkling some of the glitter off on the children, who twirled and giggled with glee.

By the time he looked up again, Peter would typically be gone. Blaine would sometimes hear his voice in the distance, calling out to his hoards as he skipped off. To annoy someone else, no doubt.

There was a thunderstorm looming that Thursday, Blaine could feel it in the air. His costume clung to his skin even worse than usual, the heat stifling, making sweat pool at the back of his neck. The following day would be his first off in over a week and the tiredness was starting to take its toll. He felt sluggish, the smile on his face forced where it usually came naturally, his limbs stiff and uncomfortable.

He pushed through it, he didn't have a choice, relishing in the moments that he could kneel down to sign a little girl's autograph book or pose for a photo. Rising up again, brushing the dirt from his knees, was always the harder part.

It was those kind of days that made him grateful for having Rachel's Ariel by his side: the girl had a level of professionalism that some of the others lacked in part, the same work ethic and drive for high quality in any performance that Blaine strove for himself. She could sense Blaine's exhaustion, her fingers gently pressing into his arm in a gesture of support whenever he took her by the arm to lead her somewhere.

Blaine heard Peter before he saw him, his whoops and cries accompanied with the sound of feet pitter-pattering over the ground in their direction. He wasn't sure he could take the other boy's antics that day, but he set the smile on his face into place all the same as he turned his head in the direction that the noises were coming from.

"Who's that?" he asked the children around him, widening his eyes and pointing behind them. "Who's that coming towards us, everyone?"  
Many of the children started cooing and bouncing up and down excitedly as Peter Pan came skipping towards them, his own little gang behind him. One little boy, however, took one look at him and burst into tears.

_Me too, sweetheart, _Blaine thought to himself, before kneeling down a little to pat his shoulder gently. "Hey, it's okay, he's just playing," he assured him gently, his heart warming as his big blue eyes, streaked with tears, turned on him. "He's harmless, really, I promise," he added, with a small teasing grin.  
The boy blushed, snuffling before he pushed up onto his tiptoes to wrap his arms around his neck. "You're my favourite, Prince Eric," he whispered, squeezing a little before pulling back with a smile.

Blaine laughed softly as he stood up, but his lightened mood only lasted a moment or two. Peter had perched himself on the wall next to him, his long fingers toying with some of the sparkly dust that he had scooped into his palm. Blaine gritted his teeth, preparing for the worst, his eyes flashing in his direction fiercely, as subtle a warning as he could convey as possible.

_Don't you dare. Not today._

"Hey kids, wanna see Prince Eric sparkle?" Peter called out over the group, receiving a round of enthusiastic cheers in response.  
Blaine laughed along, slipping an arm tightly around Rachel's waist. "Oh, don't I already sparkle, Peter? I often look in the mirror and think I just _glow_ from my love for Ariel."

The kids, and several of the parents, gushed appreciatively, the sound of cameras clicking around their little scene. Blaine had hoped maybe for once Peter would just drop it, would back down. He should have known better. Moments later he was blinking glitter from out of his eyes and resisting the urge to smack Peter Pan across the face.

Fortunately, Rachel was quick on her feet, making up some excuse to the children about how they had a ball to get ready for and she had to make sure Eric was presentable, before ushering him off towards one of the backstage areas. Blaine let her guide him, given that all he could see when he opened his eyes was flecks of gold and silver.

As soon as the door was firmly shut and Blaine knew no poor child outside was going to be able to hear him, he exploded, rubbing at his eyes furiously. "Mother fucking asshole piece of _shit_," he yelled, stomping over to the sinks to wash the stuff free. "What is he? Eight? I am so _sick_ of that kid, Rach!"

Rachel shushed him gently, following after him to slip the jacket free off his shoulders, before rubbing his back in smooth circles. She didn't say anything until Blaine had calmed down a little, his shoulders slumping and his breath coming out more evenly.  
"I'm sorry," Blaine murmured, tipping his head forward to rest against the cool glass of the mirror. "I'm sorry, you didn't need to be on the receiving end of that."

She hummed softly, pulling back as he moved to sit down on one of the benches. "Blaine, can I ask you something?" He nodded sullenly, his head drooping a little, as she moved to sit beside him. "If a kid, in elementary school, say, likes someone - _like_ likes - what do they do?"  
Blaine raised his head, confusion knitted into his eyebrows. He shrugged. "Teases them, makes fun of them, something like that," he replied, still unsure of what she was getting at.

Rachel laughed softly, giving his forearm a squeeze. "Sebastian _does_ play the boy who never grows up," she commented, giving his cheek a kiss before she stood, smoothing out her dress. "Come out and join me when you're ready. I'll cover for you."

Blaine watched her go, sighing softly as the door clicked closed. "Sebastian," he murmured, turning the name over on his tongue, acutely aware that he'd never heard his real name before.

It had grown dark by the time Blaine got to leave the park that night, his satchel thrown over his shoulder as he trudged his way towards the exit. The ground was damp from where the storm had finally broken that evening; thankfully, once he'd been out of the rain himself, thus saving his hair from a minor catastrophe.

He heard someone calling his name behind him, his head whipping around as he peered into the dim light. He'd gotten so used to responding to Prince Eric, these days, that sometimes he had to remind himself that he was still Blaine, too.

A tall man drew up in front of him, a light blue button down shirt draped over his torso, black jean shorts tapered at the knee highlighting the length and slim tone of his legs. Blaine frowned, unsure who the man was at all until he came into the light from the street lamp, his green eyes gazing down at him.

"Sebastian," Blaine said, folding his arms over his chest as the corner of his mouth turned down.  
The other man grinned, a cat-like smirk that Blaine knew far too well. "I wasn't aware you knew my name."  
"I could say that same thing for you." Blaine paused, tapping his toe off the ground. "Can I help you with something?" _Asshole._

Sebastian cleared his throat, pushing his hands into the pockets of his shorts. "I just wanted to apologize. For today. Well, for every one of the times I've blown that fucking glitter shit into your eyes. Trust me, I understand how annoying it is, I'm never free of it." He held up his hands as evidence, and Blaine couldn't help but snort at the coating of shimmery glitter across his palms. "But especially for today. I could see that you weren't in the mood for messing around and I did it anyway."

Blaine nodded a little, letting his arms drop to his sides. "Thank you," he said softly, allowing himself to give Sebastian a small smile. "I appreciate it." He cocked his head a little. "Does this mean you're going to stop doing it?"

Sebastian hummed, giving a small shrug. "Probably not, no," he replied honestly. "Apparently Peter Pan throwing pixie dust at Prince Eric is becoming quite a hot spot for this summer."  
Blaine rolled his eyes, murmuring a goodbye before turning to leave. He paused a few feet away, looking back to where Sebastian was still standing beneath the lamp, watching him go. "You suit him, you know. Peter," he called back, trying to ignore the pleasant flip in his stomach that Sebastian's smile gave him.

"As do you, Blaine. Although I think you would have made a fine Prince Charming, too." Sebastian gave him a wave before heading off onto another of the crossroads that led from that point, his footsteps echoing softly as he went.

Blaine spent his day off in bed, catching up on some much needed sleep and marathoning _Game of Thrones_ with a hefty pile of snacks. His roommate threw a beach ball at his head when he came back in the evening to find Blaine had not moved all day, but then courteously followed the action up with going out to buy him a tub of Ben & Jerry's.

By Saturday, Blaine was feeling far more refreshed and perky than he had been just two days before, a small thrill running up his spine as he donned the costume, much like the sensation he'd had the very first time he'd put it on. Sebastian was in the back room when he made it through there, adjusting his cap in the mirror.

"Hey you," Blaine called out, finishing up the last of the buttons on his jacket.  
Sebastian turned and offered him a salute along with a cheeky wave. "Your Highness."  
Blaine chuckled, giving a mock bow before heading towards the door into the park. He heard Sebastian following after him, their footsteps almost synchronized as they stepped outside.

The door led out just around a small corner to Maurice's cottage, tucked a little out of sight from the public. The heat hit them immediately though and they both let out a small sigh as they adjusted under the heavy materials of their costumes.

"Are you feeling better?" Sebastian asked, the two of them lingering before they would go out properly and take on their roles.  
Blaine nodded, rocking on his heels. "Much, thank you. It's a wonder what eight straight hours of sleep can do to a guy."

Sebastian grinned, before scrunching his nose up a little. "I'm not sure I can remember what that feels like anymore," he mused, the sun rounding the corner and casting rays over Sebastian's freckles.

Blaine chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, his eyes following the curves and shadows of Sebastian's features. He was handsome, truly, and now that Blaine had finally had a chance to talk to him, he found he wasn't really as bad as he'd seemed at first. His conversation with Rachel came back to mind, and before he could second guess himself, he leaned up onto his toes and planted his lips onto Sebastian's.

Sebastian let out a muffled noise of surprise before his hand came up to cup Blaine's cheek, lips fitting to the shorter man's sweetly for just a moment before they broke apart. Blaine felt colour rise to his cheeks but the smile on Sebastian's face told him he hadn't made a mistake.

He opened his mouth to say something, suggest meeting after work to get something to eat, or even just to do that again - a _lot_ more of that - when he heard a small splat of something hitting the ground.

They whipped their heads around to see a little girl, maybe no more than four or five, watching them with her jaw slack, the ball of her ice cream having been the thing that had toppled to the ground, the cone still clasped in her hand. She blinked a few times before recovering herself, giggling and hopping from foot to foot. "Prince Eric! Kiss him again!"

So, Prince Eric did.


	6. RealNot Real

___When Blaine turns seventeen and the name of his soulmate is revealed to him, he is thrilled. As is his best friend, Sebastian. But for different reasons. {Inspired by one of the prompts on a tumblr post}_ [K]

* * *

**_soulmate_** _(n)_: best friend, lover, person with whom one's life is joined, the given name of whom is revealed upon the inside of the left wrist on the morning of one's eighteenth birthday

_see also: _anomalies, exceptions

The prospect of soulmates was something that instilled a certain degree of worry, sometimes even fear, into many people. Sebastian's younger sister, Amelie, would still to this day, now fourteen years old, shriek at him in fits of hysteria: what if her soulmate was a serial killer? Was she going to love him still? Worse still, what if she couldn't find him, find the man who matched up to the first name that would appear on her wrist?

He would always reassure her as best as he could, even if his concerns never aligned with his sibling's. Sebastian had been confident in his sexuality since he was young, his ten year old brain quick to develop around the idea that men held an appeal for him that women did not, despite what society might otherwise suggest he should want. He'd experimented in his later years, because he could, because his calculating mind wanted to understand his desires before he would be paired for life.

But of the many feelings that Sebastian was often hit with in relation to the thought of his soulmate, worry or fear were not ones he was familiar with. Because Sebastian already knew who his soulmate was. He could feel it into the tips of his fingers and his toes, his heart beating to the rhythm of a name that he understood, that he knew so well.

His best friend, a boy he had known quite literally since birth. Their mothers had met at a prenatal yoga class when they'd both been expecting, had gone to the same hospital, startled and amused when their baby boys had been born on the exact same day, within about twenty minutes of one another. His best friend, yes, but more than that. His protector, his confidant, someone he swore he knew better than he knew himself.

Sebastian had no doubts as he went to sleep as a seventeen year old for the last time, that Blaine would be the name inscribed on the inside of his left wrist when he awoke.

It was the light that woke him that day, warm July rays heating his feet that were peeking out of the blankets, before shifting and coating his entire body. Sebastian's eyes opened slowly, blinking away the sleep to focus on where his wrist was splayed over the pillow, inside turned towards him.

Sebastian smiled to himself, an unfamiliar flipping sensation in the pit of his stomach as he moved his other hand to trace over the letters with his thumb. He had always loved Blaine; perhaps more hazy was how long he had been in love with him. Maybe now they could stop pretending there was nothing more between them. Maybe now he could kiss those full lips he'd been dreaming of for so long, feel the touch of their palms pressed together, and hear what Blaine's voice sounded like late at night or first thing in the morning.

He took the stairs slowly, just a hooded sweatshirt over his pajamas, fairly standard Smythe attire for birthday breakfast. He could hear his parents in the kitchen, chattering over their morning cup of coffee, and the sound of the television coming from the living room.

"Happy birthday, dorkface!" Amelie called out affectionately from the living room, the television going silent and the sound of footsteps pattering out into the hall. She squinted up at him, before smirking and walking towards the kitchen. "Mom, call 911, I think Bas is _blushing._"

"Fuck off," he mumbled in sister's direction when he made it downstairs, giving her a small shove, but making no move to knock the dopey smile off his lips.  
His mother tutted softly, standing to kiss his cheek. "Language," she chided, but there was a glint in her eyes as her gaze shifted down to his wrist. "Well?"

Sebastian let the full-faced grin spread over his features before he nodded, wrapping his right hand around his left wrist. "Yeah," he said, no other clarification needed. All the Smythes had known as well as he had that it would be Blaine's name on his wrist that morning.

His mom squealed, laughing as she walked over to kiss her husband's head. "I'll have to call Jasmine! She must be ecstatic."  
Sebastian groaned, any other response cut off as he heard the sound of a car crunching its way up the driveway. "That's probably him, anyway."

He walked over to the door just in time to open it for Blaine, his smile contagious as he bounded up towards the front step.  
"I have incredible news," Blaine gushed, warm circles of colour over both of his cheeks.  
Sebastian laughed softly, rolling his eyes. "No shit, me too," he deadpanned.

Blaine huffed, pushing past him into the house, calling out his greetings to Sebastian's family. "I just can't believe it, you know?" he giggled, looking positively giddy as he turned back to Sebastian. "I think I always knew, though. I just always felt his connection with him, I _knew_ it had to mean something."

Sebastian frowned a little, his smile faltering slightly. _Him?_ He was standing right here, why would Blaine need to refer to him in the third person?  
"God, it's just so crazy, I mean I haven't even met him!" Blaine continued, running a hand through his untamed curls.

The taller boy felt at a loss for words, his eyes briefly meeting his mom's, who looked back at him with a similar look of confusion. He'd heard of the anomalies, of course - people who were mistakenly assigned to someone who was already attached to another. But that couldn't be him and Blaine. Him and Blaine were meant to be together; practically two halves of a whole already. Self-consciously, Sebastian let the sleeves of his sweatshirt roll down, pulling the material firmly down over the name on his own wrist.

"Bas, are you listening to me?" Blaine implored, looking up at him with his wide hazel eyes.  
Sebastian nodded silently, swallowing back the lump that had formed in his throat. "Bas, my soulmate.. It's _him._ My soulmate is Sebastian Stan!"

Sebastian blinked. And again. Blaine had gotten the name Sebastian across the inside of his left wrist. But he thought it was a man he'd been fantasizing about since he was thirteen. Rather than him.

"Amelie, dear, go get dressed, I need you to help me run errands," his mom said quickly from the kitchen, hustling them all upstairs. She laid a hand gently on Sebastian's arm as she went past, her eyes sending him gentle encouragement. _Give him time, bébé._

"I know he's a little older and everything, but what does age matter? We're _soulmates_," Blaine was enthusing, twisting his hands erratically in front of him. "Hey!" Blaine added suddenly. "What does yours say?"

"Jamie," Sebastian lied, clutching his fist tighter around where he had the material balled up in his hand. "I don't know him. Yet." He laughed flatly, falling silent again as Blaine began talking anew, on his plans to go out and meet Sebastian, to track him down.

Sebastian listened tirelessly, offering small nods and hums of agreement when it was needed, ignoring the crushing feeling in his chest that was throbbing painfully there. Eventually, Blaine would realize the truth, would step out of his fantasy. But maybe he wouldn't want Sebastian even then.

Blaine's crush on Sebastian Stan had been something that his best friend had gotten used to hearing about, something he'd even enthused most of the time. It was harmless - personally, Sebastian made more than enough comments about how hard he'd bang Chris Evans given the chance.

But something had snapped with Blaine's new found belief that Sebastian Stan was his soulmate, as he made plans to go and visit Cooper to attend the premiere of his latest movie. Sebastian felt like he was stuck in Groundhog Day, his days spent sitting at the foot of Blaine's bed as his friend fussed over what he was going to wear, what he was going to say, what it would take to make him realize that he was the very same Blaine as _must_ be written on his wrist.

Jasmine, Blaine's mom, would pop her head in on them sometimes, with snacks usually, always with a soft look in Sebastian's direction. Sebastian wanted to scream at her, to yell until she understood how useless letting this charade play out was. Blaine would end up hurt, upset, and none of them were doing anything to stop it.

His own mom had told him to leave it be, to allow Blaine to work through the prospect of being with Sebastian for the rest of his life in his own way, that it would all work out the way it was supposed to. But Sebastian had never been the patient type and his frustrations were rising closer to the surface with every passing day.

"I was thinking the navy bow tie but then if I wear the red one, maybe I'll be more noticeable? Or maybe he'll just notice me straight away anyway, because we are soulmates," Blaine murmured, holding up various different pieces of fabric in his hands before showing them to Sebastian. "Navy or red?"

Sebastian sighed, rolling his eyes before flopping back against the bed. "Who cares," he muttered, glaring up at the ceiling.  
Blaine went quiet, so much so that Sebastian tipped his head back up just to be sure his friend hadn't literally knocked himself out in excitement.

But he hadn't, he was merely watching him with a forlorn expression knitted across his features, the bow ties swinging a little as they dangled from his hands. "You could be a little more supportive," Blaine mumbled, casting his gaze downwards.  
"You want me to be supportive? Of your wild goose chase to track down some man who is way too old for you, for a start, and who doesn't even know you exist?" Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, forgive _me_ for not being supportive of you being a complete moron."

Blaine folded his arms over his chest, stubbornly not looking at Sebastian. "I'd like you to leave, Bas. You can show yourself out."  
Sebastian got up sullenly, heading towards the door. "With pleasure. See you around, Blaine." He looked back as he opened the door, his stomach churning so badly at seeing Blaine look upset that for a moment he thought he might be sick. He shook his head, storming from the room and slamming the door shut behind him.

Sebastian didn't give Mrs Anderson the chance to say anything to him as he left, not wanting to hear another lecture on why he should just give Blaine time. He didn't want to give him time. He wanted to be Blaine's first choice, the first person he thought of, not the reality that kicked in and had to simply be accepted. Just like Blaine was his first choice, over and over. Always.

Sebastian tried to stop himself from watching the online stream of the premiere, he really did. But he found himself clicking onto the link all the same, his eyes scouring the crowds that had formed for Blaine, to no avail. Sebastian Stan was there though, looking admittedly very handsome in a tux, smiling for the cameras.

With a tall, blonde woman by his side. Sebastian bit down on his lower lip, clicking through to another stream hosted by one of the press companies down by the carpet. It was mid-interview by the time he got past the commercials, only vaguely aware of where he was holding his breath.

Even when Sebastian knew it was all make believe, even then, he wanted it to work out for Blaine. He wanted him to have the happily ever after that he so deserved, even if it was with a different Sebastian, and not him.

_"I feel very lucky. It may have taken twelve years to find the woman who matched up to the name I received so long ago, but some people have to wait even longer than that." _Sebastian on the screen smiled, kissing the woman's cheek, causing a round of cheers to go up from the onlookers.

In the background, Sebastian could just pick out Blaine's face, and the steady stream of tears falling down his cheeks. He didn't hesitate before slamming his laptop closed, grabbing the nearest bag and throwing a few items of clothing and a toothbrush in, stuffing his phone into his pocket.

His mom didn't seem at all surprised to see him with a packed bag by his side when he stumbled down the stairs, passing him the car keys and the emergency credit card with a small smile. "Go get him,_bébé. _You've waited long enough." Behind her, from the living room, he could hear the same online stream he'd been watching playing out from her own laptop.

The flight was excruciating, every second adding up into another moment that he wasn't there to hold Blaine, to squeeze his hand, to tell him everything that had been building up for years. To tell him that he would do whatever it took to make him the happiest man in the world.

Cooper was expecting him, too, it seemed when Sebastian made it to his apartment, patting his shoulder before gesturing to his guest bedroom. Sebastian had been there before, spent summer vacations out there with Blaine, days on the beach with the hot sand between their toes and nights running wild over the foreign streets, with Cooper for guidance.

Sebastian left his bag out in the hall, rapping gently on the door before he walked in. Blaine didn't look up as he walked in, the bed dipping as Sebastian sat down beside him. He scratched the back of his neck, overwhelmed with the urge to do something, but with utterly no idea where to start.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said softly, staring down at the carpet.  
Sebastian smiled wryly. "Shouldn't that be my line?" he asked, building his courage to reach and take Blaine's hand into his own, lacing their fingers together.

Blaine laughed wetly, tipping his head upwards, although his gaze quickly fell to their joined hands. He pushed Sebastian's sweater up, fingers ghosting over the outline of his own name against his skin, a soft sigh falling from his lips. "I knew it would be you," Blaine murmured. "I think I just..panicked."

Sebastian reached to tuck a stray curl behind Blaine's ear, his thumb tracing the curve of his ear. "I get it. Not to mention, Sebastian Stan has that whole smoldering thing going on."  
Blaine snorted, pressing his cheek into the warmth of Sebastian's palm with a hum, his eyes falling closed. "You're an idiot," he murmured, a smile playing on his lips.

"That's rich coming from you," Sebastian retorted, rendered otherwise speechless as Blaine tugged on his hand, drawing him closer, though his eyes remained closed. Sebastian tipped his head down, brushing his lips over Blaine's, the air flooding from his lungs as his best friend, his soulmate, knotted a hand into his hair and pulled him in.

Sebastian could feel a flame igniting within his chest, his hands shaking as they cupped Blaine's face gently, committing the taste of the other's coffee tinted lips to memory.

As if he wouldn't get to do it again every day for the rest of his life.


End file.
